Forbidden Flame. Anne Mather
Esteban said proudly. ‘From time to time, I have an expert come here from the university in Mexico City. He examines the books, and arranges any restorative work that is necessary.’
Caroline looked round her in admiration. A tiny, iron-railed balcony was situated near the moulded ceiling, enabling any enthusiastic bibliophile access to the upper shelves, and a delicately carved spiral staircase complemented the mobile ladder that provided a means of reaching the volumes out of reach.
‘You will work here,’ Esteban indicated a leather-topped desk, set beneath the long windows. ‘See—I have arranged for Emilia’s books to be placed here for your perusal, and if you require anything further, it can be obtained from the supplier in Merida.’
‘Thank you.’ Caroline touched the pile of worn textbooks with a grateful finger. This, at least, was something she knew and understood, and she glanced anxiously at Emilia, expecting to meet resentment or antagonism. But Emilia returned her gaze with only faintly hostile eyes, and Caroline’s spirits lifted slightly at the prospect of making some headway.
‘I will leave you,’ Esteban said now, much to her relief. ‘I have matters of the estate to discuss, with my overseer. I will see you both at lunchtime, señorita, when we can discuss Emilia’s progress. Until then, hasta luego, Miss Leyton. Hasta luego, Emilia.’
The door closed, and Caroline sank down rather weakly on to the leather chair beside the desk. The silence that followed Esteban’s departure was pregnant with emotion, but anything was better than the tension that had gripped her since Emilia joined them in the music room.
Emilia moved round the desk now, to lean with her elbows on its surface. She regarded Caroline’s troubled face with concentration for a few moments, and then, with an inconsequence mature for her years, she said: ‘I told you you wouldn’t like it here.’
Caroline looked at her blankly, then briskly reached for one of the dog-eared textbooks. ‘You know, you could be right,’ she remarked calmly, and opened the book.
‘You didn’t tell him,’ Emilia went on insistently. ‘You didn’t tell Don Esteban what I said. Why not?’
‘What you said?’ Caroline frowned, as if she couldn’t remember the child’s words in intimate detail. ‘What did you say?’
Emilia sighed. ‘You know! About your not liking it here. About the spiders and the vampires!’
‘Oh, I see.’ Caroline shrugged her slim shoulders. ‘I’d forgotten. Besides, of what interest would that be to your father?’
‘Don’t call him that!’ exclaimed Emilia fiercely. ‘He’s not my father! I hate him!’
‘Emilia!’ Caroline had to protest now. ‘He is your father, and you shouldn’t say such things about him. It—well, it’s rude, and ignorant.’
Emilia straightened. ‘Tio Vincente is my father,’ she declared, causing Caroline’s lips to part in stunned disbelief. Was there no end to the revelations she was to be subjected to? ‘Tio Vincente loved my mother. That’s why Don Esteban hates me.’
‘Oh, don’t be so silly, Emilia.’ Caroline had had enough for one day. ‘Look, I’m not here to discuss who might or might not have loved your mother. I’m sure your father cared for her very deeply, and just because you’re disobedient, and your father punishes you, there’s no reason for you to go spreading malicious tales that have no basis in fact. You’re your father’s daughter—it’s obvious! Now, sit down, and stop behaving like a melodramatic two-year-old.’
Emilia pursed her lips. ‘You don’t know anything.’
‘Nor do I want to,’ retorted Caroline shortly, uncomfortably aware that her motives for feeling that way were not entirely disinterested. She couldn’t help remembering Luis’s reticence when she had asked about Emilia’s mother’s death, and his reluctance to discuss his brother’s reaction. But, as she had continually to keep telling herself, the personal affairs of the Montejos were nothing to do with her, and she determinedly began to ask Emilia questions, in an attempt to assess the child’s capabilities.
In fact, the morning passed quite quickly. Once she became interested in proving what a bright and intelligent pupil she was, Emilia lost that air of antagonistic aggression, and showed an entirely more sympathetic side to her nature. She was sharp and intelligent, and although Luis had told her that Miss Thackeray had died last year, her education was far in advance of most children of that age. She read well, and with expression, and her mental arithmetic was good. If she had a failing, it was that she was sometimes too quick with her answers, and in consequence made careless mistakes that given a little more time, she would have avoided. She had obviously enjoyed her lessons with Miss Thackeray, and whatever the old lady’s failings, so far as Emilia’s education was concerned, she had done a good job.
Emilia told her that lunch was usually served at one o’clock, so at half past twelve Caroline dismissed her pupil. She had decided to return to her room and do some of her unpacking, as well as attending to her appearance. But when she opened the door to her apartments, she found that someone had forestalled her, and her clothes had all been hung away and her cases stowed in the closet. Unused to such assiduous attention, Caroline felt somewhat disconcerted, but a swift examination of the drawers and wardrobe assured her that her belongings had been handled with the utmost care and consideration.
Examining her reflection in the dressing table mirror, she noted the faint flush that still lingered in her cheeks, a reminder of the disturbing morning she had spent, she brushed a pale powder compound across the revealing colour in an attempt to disguise her agitation, then reapplied the lip-gloss to her mouth. In truth, she did feel a little hungry now, having refused a cup of chocolate mid-morning, but the prospect of seeing Luis again, after his brother’s revelations, tightened the muscles of her throat.
She traversed the length of the corridor again, and descended the stairs at ten minutes to one, only to encounter the subject of her nervous speculations in the hall. Luis had evidently just come in from riding, for he was wearing black leather gaucho pants and an open-necked black shirt, and the scent of horseflesh was unmistakable as he moved to pass her and climb the stairs.
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